Painting by Lionel Walden

Too much

Too much moonlight
to see the depth of the starry sky;
soft silver sifts down
through the empty miles,
filling our eyes with secrecy.

Poplars rustle like rain,
falling from the cloudless night,
and the dead brown leaves
sigh in the south wind,
ebb tide in a lonely cove,
footsteps departing.